The Sermon
by Rambaud
Summary: Severus knew it was only a matter of time before Potter did another stupendously idiotic thing, but he didn't think it would be so soon in the year... Fortunately, this time, Albus isn't there to reward the little brat for his rashness and arrogance, and his means that Severus can actually do his job for once. The part he's best at, the part he actually enjoys: the reprimand.


Oh boy.

"Ron..."

Ooooooh boy.

"Ron."

Ohboyohboyohboyohboy.

" _Ron! Get u–_ uhh Ron?"

Ron wasn't moving.

"Yes, _Potter_." The professor spoke with as little motion as was humanly possible, barely opening what must have been the stoniest, most scornful expression ever worn by any face ever. And yet the name dripped with more disdain than Harry could have put in a single word if he had mobilised all the muscles in his body in a concerted effort. And Snape wasn't finished:

"It would appear that, during this latest... _adventure_ of yours, your friend has lost what one might generously call his consciousness. Let's all hope he's not concussed; Merlin knows he can't spare the braincells. As for you, it would seem that once again, you have been lucky enough to be spared most of the rightful consequences of your bafflingly idiotic course of action."

Snape whipped out his wand from the dark folds of his robes, visibly revelling in the young wizard's flinch, and waved it over the unmoving form of the soon to be ex-Gryffindor. Ron rose as if lifted by an unseen stretcher and the potioneer started to walk towards the castle, his levitated charge following slowly. With little else to do, Harry scrambled to his feet and followed his professor, probably towards his doom. Snape spoke up again after a few silent minutes.

"I suppose you'll interpret this new stroke of luck as the latest in a long series of proofs of your indubitable superiority over the rest of us mere mortals. After all, few wizards have escaped unscathed after ramming a metric ton of enchanted metal into a centuries-old Whomping Willow. Of course, few wizards have had that idea in the first place." Snape half-turned to Harry, and motioned to the unconscious redhead as he floated into the infirmary "Would you care to venture a guess as to why?"

"I didn't mean to–"

"Of course!" Snape cut him off and turned around, robes billowing in the sudden u-turn "Of course you didn't _mean_ to almost uproot this unsuspecting, priceless specimen of an _endangered species –_ one of the _last of its kind –_ while putting your life and that of your housemate in serious peril. You just _crash landed in the courtyard of a school full of children._ Why? How has it come to pass that you even _needed_ to crash land in the courtyard of a school full of children? Why simply because, seeing as you couldn't be bothered to be on time for the perfectly functional train that the ministry has put in the service of _every student in the country, free of charge_ , you decided that the best course of action was to fly an illegal piece of enchanted muggle machinery over half the country. Never mind that you wouldn't even have a clue as to how to operate the _simpler_ , mundane version."

"I was on time for the train but–."

" _Spare me your excuses, child_!"

A lot could be said against Snape. He wasn't, by any measure of the word, a nice man. He generally spoke with a quiet disdain in his voice. He sometimes made his voice harsher, mostly when Neville made a particularly dangerous blunder in class. He very rarely shouted at someone outright, even Harry. But right then, for a second, the corridor had been filled with his booming anger.

There was an icy silence after that, only broken by the rhythmic percussions of the four feet on the cold stones as the two made their way to the dungeons. When they neared his office, behind the potions classroom, he spoke again.

"Surely you must realise. Somewhere in your brain, there must be _some_ good faith left, a corner, somewhere, that understands what I've been telling you for a few minutes now – sit!" Snape sat behind his desk and waited for Harry to do the same. When he did, he continued "I don't care _why_ you weren't on the train! _No one_ cares why you weren't on the train. When the Headmaster and your Head of House finish up with their welcoming feast and join us, they won't ask you 'why weren't you on the train?', they'll ask you 'what went through your pathetic excuse for a mind when you decided to fly that car?', because although there are thousands of perfectly logical scenarios that would lead you to not be on a train on time, there is absolutely none in which flying to Hogwarts in an enchanted car is a good idea. There isn't even a single scenario in which flying a car to Hogwarts is even a _mediocre_ idea... Please enlighten me. Where did you take off?"

"Uh... King's Cro–"

"Right. King's Cross. So you and Mr. Weasley missed the train, but the rest of his family didn't. I can only surmise that you got separated while nearing the entrance to the platform?"

"Ye–"

"And you both decided to go back outside to the car... _and take off_! I've been to King's Cross. It's a big station. Even in a hurry, you should have had _at least_ one or two minutes before reaching the car. Add to that getting in, finding the relevant keys, buttons and pedals... Let's assume three minutes. You had at least three minutes to think. Let's wait three minutes now, together."

"But I was–"

" _Three minutes..._ " Snape spoke over his protest "...in silence please."

They waited three minutes. It stretched and stretched. Even the first thirty seconds were unbearably long. All Harry could now do was inspect the stare that Snape was giving him. Yep, stony as ever... Funny how _long_ three minutes are when you're not doing anything but counting them...

"Three minutes is a long time not to think at all, Mr. Potter"

"In my defence, I was running and panicking."

"Were you running and panicking for the whole _eight hour flight_ too?"

"Um... No..."

"Am I right in assuming that this pile of crumpled metal that I saw receding in the Forbidden Forest was in fact the property of the Weasley _parents_?"

"Uh... Yes."

"Is it at all possible that the Weasley parents had in fact accompanied the whole family in said car?"

"Uh..."

"I think you can see where I'm going with this: is there any reason why you didn't simply wait by the car for the adults to come back and sort your problem out?"

"Uh..."

"Come to think of it, you knew that King's Cross would be teeming with adult Witches and Wizards, any of whom would have recognised you instantly and known you should have been on the train."

"Uhm... Yes..."

"And yet, the next step you took instead of asking for help, was to _steal_ Mr. Weasley Sr.'s illegal flying car, _assume_ that you'd be able to somehow find the Hogwarts Express's train tracks from above and follow them, _assume_ that you'd have enough petrol not to crash land in the middle of nowhere and die of hunger or thirst whilst the rest of the country looked for you, _assume_ that you'd be able to land without killing anyone or destroying anything at the end of your moronic journey, and _assume_ that you'd be welcomed into the school after such a dramatic entrance. Did you imagine there would be _cheers_ , Potter?"

"..." Harry knew there wouldn't be any cheer in Hogwarts as long as Snape roamed its halls. The Professor stood up and started creeping around the cramped office, gliding around, deftly avoiding the cabinets full of vials and other potioneering apparatus, his dark cloak billowing behind him. It occurred to Harry that although the robes seemed very thick, they must have been made out of an extremely light material to billow like that, with the slightest of motion on his part.

"You see, Potter, despite everything you do, despite everything you keep trying to prove to the esteemed faculty of this institution _all year long_ , I find myself unable to believe that you are – at your core – an imbecile. A dunderhead, certainly; most of the students are: they haven't yet learned how not to be. But not an imbecile, that would permanent. Some students are, unfortunately. More than I wish. But even though I admittedly have doubts about your unconscious friend, I cannot bring myself to believe that _you_ could be one.

"..." What?

"Which makes the matter even worse."

"..." Ah.

"If you were an imbecile, all... _this_ could be put on account of your immutable stupidity and we could move on. Unfortunately, since I cannot bring myself to categorise you thusly I have to find another reason for the impossibly stupid decisions that you keep taking. And since even the most basic of consequences don't seem to factor in your decision making process, the only conclusion I can draw is that, although you are able to formulate the _concept_ of consequences, you somehow don't _believe_ in them. That you don't believe the _Boy-who-lived_ can be expelled from his school, his wand broken and his memories removed. That you don't even believe he can be seriously injured or die. The only conclusion I can draw is that you are as arrogant, self-involved and entitled as your worthless father was before you."

"My father wasn't _worthless_!"

Snape forcibly turned Harry's chair and lowered his crooked nose to face the teenager.

"And how would _you_ know? Ever met the ponce? I have."

"...Everybody says he w–"

"Has it occurred to you, Mr. Potter, that every single dead person who wasn't a downright monster was a decent chap who will be missed by everyone they've ever so much as crossed paths with? Have you ever been to a graveyard? Does a single tombstone read "Here lies Mr. so-and-so, he was kind of a jerk and now he's dead"?"

"..." Harry tried to make his eyes say ' _Probably yours in a few years_ '. It must have worked, because Snapes eyes narrowed and his frown deepened.

"Let's go even further: let's do a thought experiment. Picture someone you vaguely dislike. Not your mortal enemy, not the Dark Lord, not me, not even Mr. Malfoy... let's take Mr. Crabbe for example. That's not someone you could pretend to even remotely be fond of, now, could you? Now imagine Mr. Crabbe kept growing up, stayed the same not very likeable fellow... and then _died_. You probably wouldn't care very much, now, would you."

"I–."

"But imagine they died in a futile but undoubtedly heroic self-sacrifice to save their child from a bloodthirsty Dark Lord. Imagine it was a highly publicised affair, and everyone knew of the _brave last stand of Mr. Crabbe_. Articles written, memorials erected... Picture now, ten years later, the aforementioned child. All pink and small... an innocent little bundle of various potentialities. Suppose this precious price of brave Mr. Crabbe's life, asked you what Mr. Crabbe was like when you knew him in school. What would you say then? That the whole world – who hasn't even met Mr. Crabbe for more than a minute – reveres him, but you have and you've never particularly cared for the man?"

"..."

"Would you say he was a mindless follower? Would you say he couldn't form articulate thoughts on his own, and had to rely on other people who unabashedly ordered them to do their... ethically questionable bidding? Would you tell this innocent child – at least innocent until proven guilty – that their father, who died protecting them, was a _brute_?"

"..."

"No. I don't believe you would. Because – like your father before you – you fancy yourself a _paragon of virtue_ , and paragons of virtue – adult ones at least – aren't unnecessarily cruel to ten year old children, no matter their parentage... You would either strive to find a single positive thing to tell them, lie, or you would tell them to ask Mr. Goyle. Because an orphan doesn't deserve the truth that the rest of us have to learn sooner or later about our parents: that they're just people... and people are more often entitled, self-serving bastards than they are paragons of virtue. They have friends, people they like, people they've managed to seduce and who like them back, of course... but they also have enemies, people they hate, people whom they've wronged and who hate them back... and finally there are people who wouldn't give two pieces of dragon dung whether they live or die. Unless of course they die and become heroes. Martyrs. Celebrities. Saints. Then everybody was suddenly their friends all along... Everybody except the people to whom they've shown their true faces."

During his speech, Snape had brought his crooked nose even closer to Harry's face. Harry had shrunk back in his seat to avoid any possibility of collision.

"Like it or not, Mr. Potter, or believe it or not, but I am one of the very few people you'll ever meet who's ever seen your father's true face and I tell you this: I don't fancy myself a paragon of virtue, but he was _worthless_."

"..."

"Do you believe me?"

"No."

"Of course you don't." Snape's face recoiled suddenly and the bat retreated to behind his desk "Your unconditional love for yourself wouldn't ever let you believe that you could be an apple from a rotten tree. You are perfect, therefore your father must have been perfect too."

"I'm not perfect."

"And of course you _say_ that: people who _admit_ that they believe themselves to be perfect have at least that flaw... So you'd never. But can you tell me one flaw you truly believe you have?"

"..."

"Go on. Tell me one flaw of yours that you're aware of."

"Care to tell me one of yours?" Harry couldn't stop himself. Snape only smirked as if he expected the insolence.

" _I_ 'm not on trial here. Do you know why? Because I _didn't_ just do something incredibly stupid... But I understand; tit for tat so to speak. You want a flaw? Easy: I'm a bastard. A calculating, cold-blooded bastard. I don't have a nice bone in my body; I'm the one who tells the unabashed truth to Mr. Crabbe's son in my own little scenario. And I don't stop when I see the tears or the anger on his face. Not because I believe in the value of truth, or to teach him a lesson no... I spit on the little angel all the venom I had accumulated for his father, just to spite the memory of my fallen enemy. Because I'm a _hateful_ bastard. I'm thoroughly unlikeable and that indubitable fact is reflected in the amount of _friends_ that I have. There. Your turn now."

"..."

"Chop-chop, Potter. What flaw of yours led to this little sermon? Or maybe you still don't believe that it is deserved? That it all stems from something you're actually guilty of?"

"...I... I'm too impulsive?"

"Is that a question?"

"I'm too impulsive."

"Everybody who's impulsive is _too_ impulsive. Being impulsive is a flaw in and of itself."

" _Alright_ , so I'm impulsive."

"Develop that thought if you will. I didn't just give you an adjective, when _you_ asked."

"I'm impulsive; I don't think before I act, I just do stuff, I... I panic and... and... I think _I_ have to do something on my own but... but..."

"...but?"

"..."

"If I may try to complete this pathetic attempt at an articulate thought: you think it's on you to solve problems a child like you couldn't possibly be expected to know how to solve, rather than simply ask an adult for help. Potter, that is the very _definition_ of arrogance."

"Yeah, well maybe if adults actually _did_ help when I ask them..."

"Again, _arrogance_ , Potter. No matter what you believe about your self-worth, adults are not here to _serve you_. Sometimes you have to ask more than once until someone will deign to–"

"Yeah, well how about last year, then? 'Professor, someone is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone right now', 'No, go to sleep', if I hadn't–"

"Let me stop you right there, Potter. I'm afraid you seem to be under the impression that you and your friends' contribution at the end of last year was _welcome_. I'm willing to admit that your arrogance may not be the sole culprit for this particular delusion: I still don't know why the Headmaster saw fit to _reward_ that particular bout of foolishness. Maybe he just wanted to spite the Slytherin house... Believe it or not, your Head of House actually told me what you said; incredible though it may seem, the staff does in fact communicate in here. You said ' _Snape_ is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone.' and she rightfully responded that I wasn't and that it was a ridiculous thought, before legitimately advising you not to worry about what's beyond you, and to go to sleep. Then she continued acting as was appropriate, and contacted the _Headmaster_. She did _everything right_ , except for making _absolutely sure_ that the over-excitable _children_ in her care stayed in their beds; to her credit the poor woman couldn't be in the Owlery and in the Gryffindor dormitories at the same time."

"But if we–."

" _If_ you hadn't done anything, _then_ the Headmaster's plan would have worked and the thief would have been captured and sealed in the Mirror, in stasis with a fake stone. Instead he's _dead_. And that was the _lucky_ outcome because what anyone would have expected to happen is that _you_ should have died. That was your _irreplaceable contribution_ to this particular fiasco. You weren't heroically saving the day, _Potter_ , you were stumbling blindly into something you didn't understand, and making a mess of everything. Professor McGonnagall _tried_ to prevent it but she was unfortunately under the illusion that she had a modicum of authority over her first years, and that you would listen to her _direct instructions_ rather than take the matter into you own undereducated hands!"

"..."

"You acted rashly, impulsively, and you arrogantly believed that _you_ had the power and the duty to do something the adults responsible for you couldn't or wouldn't! By any law of probabilities, it should have ended in a catastrophe; instead it just had a terrible but manageable outcome. That was only two months ago, and you did more or less the same today with somewhat less deadly consequences, evidently by no lack of _trying_ on your part. Now could you please summarise your flaws before they succeed in killing you or someone either of us cares about?"

"...I... I'm rash..."

"And?"

"And... distrustful of authority..."

" _Blindly_ distrustful. Say it. And?" Harry glared

"Blindly distrustful of authority, and... that leads me to do stupid things"

"Out of what belief?"

"Out of... out of the belief that... that I know better..."

"And how should such a belief be _qualified_? And what about _consequences_?" Harry glared further.

"Out of the _arrogant_ belief that I know better... and without regard to the consequences of my actions."

" _Again_! In one go this time"

"I am rash and distrustful of authority, and that leads me to do stupid things... out of the arrogant belief that I know better, and without regard to the consequences of my actions"

"You forgot _blindly_! _Again_!"

" _I am rash and **blindly** distrustful of authority, an that leads me to do stupid things out of the arrogant belief that I know better, without regard to the consequences of my actions!_"

"And do you _finally_ believe that?"

" _Yes_!"

"...Adequate." Snape left his desk to stalk towards the door behind Harry. "In other words you cumulate almost all of the typical flaws of the _oh-so-noble_ Lion House, congratulations. If you had been a self-righteous bully on top of it we'd have Gryffindor bingo... You would do well to keep your flaws in mind. I hear footsteps in the corridor; you will repeat those flaws verbatim to the Headmaster and your Head of House when you apologise. Maybe a modicum of lucidity will convince them not to expel you on the spot, Merlin knows I would. And then please, _Potter_ , do us all a favour: work on them. Or at least take example on Granger and _learn. M_ ake it so you _actually_ know better. _Her_ arrogance, at least, is somewhat warranted. Insufferable though it is..." Harry heard the door open... "Don't touch anything while I have a word with them." ...and close.

A few minutes later he didn't even see the look of complete astonishment when he repeated his admission of guilt, word for word, to his Head of House. But he did hear her whisper something like "smug bastard snake" under her breath.


End file.
